Cognate
by A-Aron24
Summary: When memories of an alternate reality where she knew a different 'Peter Parker' begin to haunt her, Natasha begins to question whether they were ever real or not. The Spider-Man that exists in this reality is 15-years-old, but the one she remembers was now a young adult, much taller, was in love with a girl named Gwen Stacy. (Sequel to 'Alias' and 'Latrodectus')
1. Incoherent

**Incoherent**

 _Queens, New York_

Worrisome that his suit and mask remains concealed inside his backpack at all times, Peter Parker innocently bobs his head to the beat of the music playing in his new iPod Aunt May got for his birthday. But surely, even if the thought of it slipping out of the small space of the bag zipper frequently bugged him, he could just say it was a silly costume. And considering the reputation Spider-Man has come to make for himself, that'd be a far more believable excuse than the many other crazy things that existed in the universe.

As he let himself in his home, Peter threw his bag onto the living room couch and made his way towards the kitchen. Any other time Aunt May would've been pissed to see him carelessly throw his crap onto the furniture like that (to be fair, it was a new couch), but she wasn't home yet. Since getting her new job, Peter kind of missed her being there waiting for him to get home and ask how his day at school was. Now all he comes to is silence. On the other hand, most teenagers, like himself, loved the idea of being home by themselves up until the point their folks came by to crash the party.

But even before he made it to the kitchen, an uninvited guest was sitting at the Parkers dining room table. Their back was turned to him, and their hood was over their head, but Peter could tell it was a female with blonde hair that still dangled to the sides a bit. Peter thought to himself, if it was a thief, they chose the wrong home to break into.

"So," the woman said as she stood up to reveal herself. Peter's jaw dropped as he slowly pulled the headphones down from his ears, letting them awkwardly dangle over his neck. "How was school?" she finished.

It was Romanoff. No longer donning the red hair, but blonde instead. Once she became a world renown assassin and Avenger, her own natural feature became a signature look that she couldn't afford to let blow her cover since laying low after the incident in Berlin. For Peter, all he could wonder was what she was doing in his home in the first place. And most importantly, was she a threat?

"W-What are you-" Peter tried to muster, "How did you-... w-wh"

"Whatever you're wondering, that's the least of your problems now, Parker," Natasha firmly addressed.

"Aren't you a fugitive now? L-Like a war criminal, with Captain America and them - what are you doing here?!"

As he said that, he immediately started running towards his bag, where he kept readily available loads of web shooters. He knew he wouldn't have time to use his suit if the spy tried anything funny. Natasha sighed.

"Parker, I'm not here to hurt you," she assured.

Still reaching for his bag, Peter unzipped it and scuffled to grab for his webs. Considering that by this point, if the Black Widow did intend to harm him in any way, she would have by now, so for Natasha, he looked rather silly to her rummaging through his bag, looking up and down frantically to make sure she didn't attack or anything. She just stood there with her hands resting in the pockets of her hoodie.

"Stay back!" Peter warned as he pulled out his pack of shooters and held them up to her. "I'm not scared to use these on you!"

Natasha, trying to keep her composure, gave a nod and slowly raised her hands in surrender. "Look, I get it, you're confused. _I_ am too." Now he was really confused. "We need to talk."

"About what?!" he demanded.

Natasha took a breath. "It's complicated. I can explain it all as much I ca- could you please put that down?"

"Uh-uh, I don't trust you."

"I don't trust _anyone._ Welcome to the club."

Peter kept his arm fixed on her as though he held a real gun up to her. Even if it didn't shoot a bullet, Natasha would be met with a full-forced web that'd send her flying onto the table just after wrapping her like a tortilla.

After moments of hesitation and probably looking stupid, Peter made up in his mind that Natasha would have probably done something already had she really intended to take him out. But he knew how manipulative she could be. He knew what she was and how great her methods could be.

"Parker, please," Natasha sternly spoke.

Peter lowered his arm to show a sign of approval, though his face said otherwise. Any sudden movements and that was it for her. Natasha cautiously lowered her hands down to her sides, really being careful of the choices she made from now on to ensure not to alert him.

"What do you want from me?" Peter ordered.

"I just need a minute of your time," Natasha assured.

"Is that it?"

"After this I'll be out of your hair. You don't have to see me again."

Peter looked her up and down, making sure to see if she had anything on her that might raise suspicion while trying not to get distracted by her figure. He was only human.

The spy continued, "This is gonna sound crazy, so you'll have to hear me out, okay?"

"At this point, I don't think my life can get any crazier," the teen protested.

Natasha nodded. "I thought the same thing. But I know for sure now that I'm not…"

Every word that she spoke began to convince Peter more that Natasha was telling the truth. Of course that could all be a part of her act, but he even if it was, Peter fell for it instead. He decided to take a chance.

"There's another Peter Parker roaming around," Natasha stated. "Another Spider-Man."

The teenager was confused by the statement because his mind couldn't decide on how to logically comprehend it all; either there was another person taking his identity as Peter Parker, therefore claiming the role of Spider-Man, or there was another individual who acquired the same skills and abilities and also donning the Spidey suit, becoming an impostor. He was going to need more clarification.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I know, it doesn't make any sense. And I'm not talking about some guy running around wearing a Spidey costume, I mean there's actually… ANOTHER you that exists."

"I'm… not understanding."

"I still don't fully understand it either." She began turning around and making her way back to the table to take a seat. "At first I thought I was losing my mind. I don't know what kind of drugs I had to be on in order to believe it… but now I know for sure I'm not crazy."

Half-jokingly in his head, Peter didn't actually want to know just how crazy the Black Widow could be.

"What do you mean there's ANOTHER me?" Peter kept questioning. "I hear what you're saying but-"

"I know it doesn't make sense. Believe me, I'm trying the best I can to explain it in words."

Natasha had to take a moment to blurt it out.

"My stance on alternate realities and other dimensions isn't exactly the strongest… but with the more recent things I've witnessed in this chapter of my life, it doesn't sound so off the wall anymore."

"Alternate realities? Like parallel universes and stuff?" Natasha nodded. "But… Wh-Hold on, wait a minute. How can you know that stuff is real? That's all just a 'theory'."

"I thought the exact same thing not too long ago. But… at first, it started as a dream. And then it happened. The next day I saw him. Just like how I pictured him in the dream… and then the memories came back. Just vivid memories that I have no idea how they got there… but they were there. I knew him. He existed at some point, in some reality."

As she kept talking, she was more and more amazed with herself at just how easy the words were coming out of her mouth. From the outside looking in, she would've thought of herself as a crazy person spouting a bunch of nonsense.

"Who?" Peter asked, not realizing he took a few steps forward. "Who did?"

"P- _Peter Parker_ " Natasha said as sane as she could possibly sound. "But not _you_ in _this_ reality, but another."

Seeing the kid look to the floor for some sort of sign or guidance as to what the hell she was talking about, Natasha felt as though this were a mistake. Coming here. She knew this would sound crazy, but she should've told herself not to even bother. But the dreams were getting worse… they were starting to become too real. Too vivid. And after what she saw… after seeing _him_ , in the flesh, she couldn't let this slide.


	2. Incongruent

**Incongruent**

"So… why do they call you Black Widow?" Peter asked the "newly blonde" sitting across from him on the subway train.

"Why do you think?" Natasha replied as she slowly turned her head from the window, looking the naive teenager in the eye with a rather creepy glare.

The kid grew wide-eyed. "You mean… like, you actually- "

Natasha chuckled, unable to maintain her composure. "Of course not. Do I look like I have time to marry anyone?" Peter stammered trying to find the words. "Don't answer that."

"Wasn't… gonna," Peter muttered.

For the spy, Peter made it far too easy for her to make him uncomfortable. And for Peter, she reminded him a bit of Michelle. They both made him feel uneasy in the sort of way that he knew deep down they actually cared for him, but at the same time, you know, ' _Screw you'_ , he thought. Natasha eyed him up and down, sensing every nerve in his body; she could tell he was hella nervous around him. She figured that's what happens when an average joe realizes that she's a world-renowned master assassin sitting right next them. They'll remember that before they acknowledge she's also a veteran Avenger. But she remembered, Parker wasn't exactly an 'average joe'.

"And loosen up. Stop acting nervous," she insisted.

"What?" Peter dumbly reacted. Natasha wasn't having it.

"I'm on your side, remember? Even back in Berlin."

"Yeah…"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah… let's try to put that behind us."

"Agreed."

The two looked out the window again, trying to kill time.

"So, why _are_ you called the Black Widow?" Peter asked very hesitantly.

Natasha slightly smiled and shook her head. There was no killing his curiosity, that was for sure.

"Like yourself, it wasn't a title I chose," she began. "It wasn't one that was born of some heroic act, though… wait, did you not do your research on me, really?"

Peter looked stupid again. "Uh, I-I didn't reall- "

"Eh, whatever, what do I care, I'm a spy," she continued. "It's a long story that's not one I like to ramble much about… maybe another time."

Peter had no words, but agreed and nodded.

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I guess I have it easy, huh?" Natasha tilted her head. "Not much to complain about, right?" he insisted.

"No one knows what we go through on a daily," she continued. "No one truly knows what the person next to them goes home to every day."

With that, maybe Natasha wasn't so mean after all, Peter wondered. He appreciated her honesty at least. But what she said was bittersweet. It was reassuring, but also kind of unnerving. What the public thinks of the Avengers isn't their actual reality. However oblivious Peter was to Natasha's past was her prerogative - her business alone - but that didn't make it any less tempting.

"You're right," he said.

"Am I ever not?" she joked.

Peter smiled. "No one has a clue that Spider-Man's just a huge nerd."

Natasha smirked. Then memories came flooding through her head again. All at once. Peter saw it on her face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah…" she lied.

Visions of the _other_ Parker were coming in hot. His hair. His eyes. His face. The brown jacket he wore. His tall and slender frame. His young and naive charisma. His innocence and maturity.

Natasha faced the floor trying to recollect herself. When she looked up, expecting to see the Parker she was just sitting with on the train, she was instead met with the _other_. Before she knew it, the scenery started to change. They were no longer on a train. They were at a cafe of some sort… Starbucks? Drinking coffee. They appeared to be engaging in an irrelevant conversation of some sort. And even though Natasha's warped consciousness told her she was sitting at a cafe table across from the _other_ , the scene was quite 'disorganized', as though she weren't actually there, but reality around her was changing right before her eyes. Fragments of sitting at the train still appeared, though scattered about in odd places.

The boy before her - the _other -_ took a sip of his coffee. They were clearly engaging in some sort of funny dialogue, but Natasha couldn't remember what for the life of her. All of these memories only confused her more than they helped. Each one only opened another question. But maybe, just maybe, Natasha wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe she had to try something in order to trigger more memories. If this really was her subconscious she was dealing with, this was probably the only way… despite being extremely dangerous.

Her eyes met his again - taking a good look at his face. He was laughing at something that was said. He was handsome. She could see that. While he seemed to be in a good mood, something behind his eyes seemed damaged. He wasn't really happy. That laugh served as momentary relief from something else. Something traumatic must've occured…

At that very moment, a spark ignited in her brain. Quite unsure as to why that very moment triggered her, Natasha took a chance, nearly hesitated, but spoke anyways.

"I-I think their lattes are kinda overrated," she said.

The boy's face changed. He was no longer smiling. In fact, there wasn't any expression. It's almost as though he really heard her - as though he knew what Natasha was trying to do; he could tell Natasha was trying to figure this all out. _To find him._

"Natasha," he said to her in his voice. It was so gentle and warm. Both Parkers had it in them. He called her name again. She wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.

Her name was called again, but this time in the other Parker's voice. Literally, in the blink of an eye, the scene changed. She was back on the train. Or maybe, she never left the train.

"Are you sure you're alright?" the Peter before her asked.

Natasha could only stare awkwardly, not even sure how to make sense of what occured. She looked to her sides, out the window, watching the many buildings pass by. That seemed to help for some reason.

"What just happened?" she asked, like he had a clue.

"You… just kinda went blank for a sec. I was calling your name. You didn't hear me?"

"... No."

"You said something about lattes being overrated?"

She looked at him. She was serious, despite how silly the statement was. This made her realize that he could hear her the whole time. Everything she was doing in that moment, at the cafe, _this_ Parker could see it all. And if that was the case, everyone else could also.


	3. Coequal

**(A/N): For reference, this version of Mary Jane is based on Shailene Woddley's portrayal of the character, as she would have been imagined in the original cut of _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_ film. This is her reimagined in the Spider-Man movie universe. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Coequal**

 _ _This woman… who was she? How do I know her? Where did she come from? Her hair is red, like MJ's, and beautiful, too… but still, who was she? Why do I feel like these dreams that I'm having feel like much more than dreams? These visions… why do I keep having them? And the other day, when I walked down Ember Avenue, she was there. Somehow. I keep trying to tell myself it was just someone who looked like her, easily. But it DID look just like her, though. Very much so. Her outfit. The jacket she swore, her boots, her jeans…__

 _Who was she? Why do I feel like she's trying to find me… and how did she know my name used to be Peter?_

An alert sounded from his phone. A text from Mary Jane. Coming back to his senses, Ben looked back from the window down to his phone. _Okay, coming up now,_ it read. Good, he thought. At least that would comfort him a bit. Ben loved having her around.

Having only typed a third of his essay that was due before the weekend, the laptop sitting before Ben sat lifelessly, as though some higher force was trying to send him a message - _That essay's not gonna type itself, you know?_ Trying to get it out of the way, the brunet viciously punched his fingers along the keyboard, creating mostly fluff for words along the way. It wouldn't be the first time he BS'd a paper. Truth was, he hated anything that wasn't science or math related when it came to writing papers. If only he'd been as talented of a writer as his Aunt May- or Aunt Martha (he forgets every now and then to stop calling her that) - except, he doesn't write in a daily journal, or diary, like she does. For some strange reason lately, each day feels less and less linear than the one that preceded it. Even if he did log his daily routines in a journal, some feeling inside told him that it'd be futile. His sense of time seemed a bit off, too. He failed to turn in last week's assignment on time, he forgot about him and MJ's date several days ago, and he woke up one night after a nap thinking he'd had a full night's rest, getting ready for class the next day and everything, only to realize that it was only eight in the afternoon. He could've sworn time was on his side. It felt as though Ben was starting to lose his sense of reality. Maybe switching to an art class like MJ joked wasn't so funny to think after all.

Speak of the devil, a binder slammed onto his table, distracting Ben momentarily, only for him to look up and see his lover striking a mischievous smile, with her red hair bangs split between both of her eyes as she took a seat. Typical of her.

"Workin' hard?" Mary Jane teased.

"Hardly," he returned. "Why is this the _one_ paper that's due right before the weekend? I mean, most of these aren't due until at least Sunday before midnight."

"Well, maybe that's because if you get it done _now_ , you won't have to worry over the weekend."

"Oh, you're on the professor's side now?"

"Just sayin'..."

"Well, I hear ya, but I don't."

The redhead chuckled and shook her head. Her straightforward demeanor is what drew Ben to Mary Jane in the first place. Her luck and charisma was unmatched, for sure. She had a zest for life that Ben wishes he had sometimes. He felt like he did, though, at some point. What changed?

"Is, uh, Aunt Martha still having us over for dinner?" MJ asked.

"Uh, yeah," he replied, still trying to type at the same time.

"Did you ask her to make those oatmeal raisin cookies I like?"

Ben made a grimace with a noise to accompany it, much to Mary Jane's playful offense.

"What?!" she scoffed with a smile. "They're the best!"

"I think you're the only person I know who actually likes oatmeal raisin cookies over chocolate chip."

"Okay, first of all, I never said I prefer them over chocolate chip, I just said that _she_ makes the best oatmeal raisins I've ever tasted-

"Oooh, okay-" he teased.

"-And second, there's nothing wrong with liking oatmeal raisin over chocolate chip."

Ben made the funny grimace again. "Yeah, I think we need to reconsider our relationship…"

MJ playfully hit him on the chest. He gave a little snicker. Teasing each other basically made the relationship. Ben found it a wonder how they lasted this long. Thankfully, he still sort of kept his sense of humor. Though, regardless, he believed she felt happier than he did overall…

Unzipping her bag, Mary Jane pulled out a book titled _Dream Psychology: Psychoanalysis for Beginners_ by Sigmund Freud, and stood it up on the table for Ben to see, waiting for a response. He took a look at it, and then to her.

"I know, it's a bit outdated," she admitted, reading his mind. "But, it's a start at least. It's something."

Ben looked down at the table seemingly in deep thought. To MJ, this seemed as a sign of disapproval.

"You don't look convinced," she stated.

"I didn't know you were serious," Ben said.

"About what?"

"This."

"I mean, yeah. If you don't wanna see a professional, _like_ you said, then what harm is there in going out getting knowledge yourself?"

Ben knew she wasn't wrong.

"Just take a peek at it, at least," as she slid the book his way.

Finally, he gave a slight nod and took it himself. Looking at the cover, the words were simple and plain with the words "Dream Psychology" printed in bright orange font, and rest in a cold dark blue, placed over a pitch black background. Ironically, for such a book about dreams and imagination, the cover lacked much imagination to Ben's humor.

"All the stuff you've been saying, these visions, these people… they way they keep coming back, they've all gotta mean something," she said. What did Ben do to deserve a girl like Mary Jane? She really did care…

"I had another one," Ben spoke.

"Another dream?"

"Another person… it wasn't the redhead this time."

"Aaaand, you sure it wasn't me?" she lightly teased.

"Nah… it was a blonde." MJ raised a brow. Talking about his dreams to others was uncomfortable enough for Ben, but to discuss other women appearing in his dreams in front of his own girl took the cake. He continued, "She… We were in high school for some reason. The halls. By the locker. She came up to me… she looked concerned. She look worried about me, sad almost. Then she hugged me."

MJ's faced remained observant and sucked into the story. So he went on.

"And… she called me Peter."

 _Peter?_ , MJ thought. That, and the many other details she was compiling in her head based on how Ben described the dream made her want to snatch it back from him and look it up herself. She perhaps felt more eager than him to understand the root of the problem.

"Peter…" she repeated.

"And she's not the only one to call me that, in my dreams," Ben went on. "The other woman called me the same thing. The redhead." MJ was about to speak again, but he kept on. "These don't just feel like dreams, MJ. It's almost like they're 'memories'. From some time ago. I don't know when, but… it really feels like they happened."

"Like Deja Vu?"

Ben nodded. "Like Deja Vu. That's exactly what I was thinking. People say it's a real thing - up until this point, I never experienced it, at least I don't know if that's what this is. I mean, it's all been happening over the course of a few weeks - I'm still trying to figure it out myself, but-"

"Okay, okay, wait, so did you ever know a blonde in high school?"

He thought about it. Strangely enough, he could hardly remember high school. It wasn't that long ago. Why was it so hard to remember? Images of him being in school came to mind; the clothes he wore, the students passing by in the halls, the skateboard he rode around, some jock that used to pick on him… yet, he probably couldn't even name the high school he attended. Everything about the topic seemed like a big haze, as if none of it really happened. But of course it had to. He didn't want to admit that to MJ yet out of fear of sounding foolish, but that was getting off track.

"I don't know - I mean, there were plenty of blonde girls around, of course," Ben argued. "But I don't remember knowing one personally. Not her… I don't think."

It really didn't matter to Mary Jane if he dated someone else before her. It's not different than the men she used to date before him. That would be foolish to assume otherwise. Plus, he was smart and good-looking at that, so, what was she to think that he didn't see someone else before her?

"Okay, and then what?" MJ asked, getting back on track.

Ben tried to remember one by one. "And then… there was another point when we weren't at the school anymore. We were… at a clock tower or something. It was night. For some reason, I saw Spider-Man. It looked just like him. And… he tried to save her, but… he couldn't."

"She…" MJ started, about to guess the obvious.

"She fell to her death," he finished. "From the tower. He tried to save her… he tried to use his web to catch her… and it did… but… something about the fall… the momentum, broke her neck when it stopped."

For a dream, this all sounded very detailed to MJ. She's had her share of surreal dreams in her lifetime, but never any as interesting as others have described, and definitely none as lucid as and symbolic and Ben's. Goes to show how interesting her life actually was.

"But the crazy part is... I felt like I was looking from _his_ perspective," Ben continued.

"His? You mean Spider-Man's?"

"Yeah. Like I was him... I let her die."

"I know, it all seems real when it's happening, I get why you feel guilty, but, you gotta remember it was just a dream."

"But what if it _was_ real?" He protested. She wasn't registering. "MJ, what if I have repressed memories that I completely forgot about and they're just now starting to surface?"

"But how could you have repressed memories of being 'Spider-Man'?" she wondered, questioning its legitimacy.

She had a point. Ben had to think about it some more…

"Holy shit, are you Spider-Man?" she joked.

"No, I'm not-"

"I'm just kidding, just kidding," she laughed.

He shook his head and looked at her, trying not to give in to her humor.

"But, to be fair, if you were, I wouldn't have any complaints," she noted, giving her seductive charming smile.

"Oh, you've got a thing for him now, huh?"

"I'm just saying, like, he's not the worst guy to be compared to. IF you were him, that is."

"Well, trust me, I'm not him."

 _Do you believe that, though?,_ a voice taunted in the back of his mind.

Maybe not...


	4. Parallel

**Parallel**

 _Oceanside, NY_

The blondie and the webhead made their way through the small town, just about an hour away from Queens. An odd pairing, they were. If Natasha had known the kid talked as much as he did, she would've dropped this whole thing entirely. But obviously she couldn't, because she still believed he somehow held the answer to all of this. She didn't know how, but she believed it. At this point, considering the recent chain of events leading her here, in her mind, she had nothing more to lose.

"Is he taller than me?" the kid asked, much to Natasha's annoyance.

"Yes," she answered, clearly annoyed and tired of answering his endless strand of questions.

"... Is he better-looking than me?"

Natasha gave him a look. _Really?,_ it said.

"I'm sorry, I ask a lot of questions when I'm in uncomfortable situations," he admitted, looking back to the sidewalk ahead of them.

"Really? Because I prefer to keep my mouth shut," she remarked.

"Am I annoying you?"

"We're far past the point of annoyance."

"I'm annoying you, aren't I?"

Natasha stopped walking dead in their tracks, to which he was forced to do the same, and she let out a rather patient sigh. "Did you tell your aunt you were gonna be gone?"

"... Yeah," he lied. But not well.

"Really?"

"... No."

"Well, I'm not your parent, but, if you were my kid, I'd probably kick your ass when you got home."

"Hey! Alright, I'll tell her!"

Natasha smirked. They kept walking as Peter pulled out his phone.

Looking around, the town had an old-time feel to it. It wasn't as vibrant and lively as Manhattan, which could also get hectic at times, but it was more laid-back and serene. For the spy, it captivated her. A sense of peace and normality actually filled her. She took cool and easy breaths as the two strolled through the town, not an ounce of danger hoping to kill her vibe. By no means did Natasha claim herself as a New Yorker, so sometimes she forgot that there's more to the Big Apple than the Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty, and the numerous other tall skyscrapers the state's known for. According to her visions, and where they were leading her, if Natasha was right, she'd have to agree that this would be a pretty chill place for someone to go into hiding. Not too far from the city center, but far enough not to be bothered with the fast-paced lifestyle around every block.

Peter's phone started calling for Aunt May. Considering recent events, he somehow thought that she'd be less worried that he was out by himself, and would probably come home late like he assumed. If things were really as serious as the spy made it, this was going to be a full-day event.

After moments passing of no pickup, the phone went to voicemail. _Damn,_ Peter thought as he threw his head back and grunted with frustration. So he left a short message:

"Hey Aunt May. I'm okay-" He looked to Natasha for some sort of approval, to which she nodded and waited for him to continue. "Uh, I know you're gonna be super mad at me, but, uh, I'm not home yet because Michelle needed help with something. Like a big problem." Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Schoolwork! Schoolwork, yeah, she needed help with her homework and stuff. We're at the library… studying and stuff." Natasha shook her head out of pity. "I'll let you know when I get home, okay? Again, so sorry, I'm alright. Love you!" With that, he hung up.

"Wow, I'm just very impressed," Natasha commented.

"Sorry I'm not a master liar like you are," Peter remarked.

"I know of kindergarteners who can lie better than that."

"Well… I'm not a kindergartener!"

Natasha smiled and shook her head and proceeded to walk to where they needed to go.

"How do you know we're even going to the right place?" Peter questioned.

"I don't," Natasha answered frankly. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm taking a gamble here."

"You're _not_ gonna _lie_?" he bluntly teased. She gave him a look.

"What I _mean_ is that based on my dreams and where they took place, all signs seem to point here, in Oceanside. Plus, an image of the house came up in my mind as well…" Natasha looked at a street sign they were coming up to, as though that would somehow give her an answer. "I just don't know where," she mumbled.

"Maybe Karen can help," said Peter.

"Who?"

"Oh, she's uh, an AI Mr. Stark installed for my suit. She's the best. Super smart, can do just about any and everything, like a personal maid."

"Like Ultron."

The kid frowned and tilted his head out of annoyance. "She's not like Ultron," he irritably muttered. "She helps people. She helps _me._ "

"Yeah, that's what Stark said about Ultron… and then he became _Ultron_."

"Whatever."

"Well, I'll tell you what, if you think 'Karen' can help us, then have at it because my hands are kind of tied here."

"Sweet… first thing's first…"

Peter took off his bag and unzipped it just enough to reach his hand in and take hold of his suit, without letting it be seen.

"Karen," he whispered into his bag. Natasha found this both amusing and ridiculous to look at.

" _Yes, Peter, how can I help?"_ the AI responded.

"Hey, we need help finding a specific house - uh, we're in Oceanside right now, and we need to know if you could help us pinpoint it."

" _Sure. I'd be glad to help. Do you have any other details about the home? An address or neighborhood perhaps?"_

The kid looked to Natasha for answers, though, her face said otherwise. She knew for a fact she definitely couldn't reference a zip code or street address. All she could really rely on was a physical description of the house. "Uh, the house is white?" Natasha stated. Peter's face turned to a disappointed frown really quick.

"I think she'll need a little more info than that," the kid remarked.

"I know that, just give me a minute," she shot back. "Um, it's two stories… it has a porch and everything…" This clearly wasn't helping. The problem wasn't that Natasha couldn't deliver a well-informed description of something (she knew that from training and experience), it was that all of her vague descriptions were useless without a home address of some sort.

Right at that moment, images flashed in her mind. More images of _him_ , and the hold house he used to live. His face appeared before her again. Her standing in his room. His presence exuded 'innocence' and 'optimism' onto her. If only she could remember what he'd meant to her in whatever reality they knew each other. It wouldn't be the first time repressed memories came back to haunt her from her days of being brainwashed under the Red Room…

Then the setting flashed to the layout of Manhattan. Still far from the scene. She needed them to take her back to where they were now, to Oceanside.

Suddenly, the visions turned from flashes to an actual guided path along the streets, and she felt as if she were traveling along with it, as though she were sitting in a car, going high-speed. This path guided her from Manhattan, to Queens, all the way to Oceanside… and then to the entrance of the house. That was it. The image stayed there long enough for her to get a good look at it, to take in all the details.

Natasha spoke again, "There's two brown chairs and table in the front. A white flower pot with a pink dahlia is sitting on the table. There's a brown carpeted doormat at the front that says, "Be Our Guest." There's no front garage, it's a back one. The grass is neatly trimmed. There's one tree out in the front yard, along with a colorful garden… the house number is 2-8-7-1."

After a moment, coming back to her senses, she met eyes again with the young brunet, who was utterly amazed by what he just witnessed, and then down at the bag, waiting for the AI to respond.

" _Okay, I've got it. From where you are, head down three more blocks, then take a right and head down seven more, and that's where you'll find Oakford Lane. Go left from there until you find the house you're looking for."_

Natasha nodded, impressed.

" _I can guide you there along the way, if you'd like."_

Peter was about to speak until Natasha interrupted. "Thanks Karen, but we got it from here. I appreciate the help." Peter was only slightly upset.

" _No problem. Glad I could be of assistance."_

Assuming she turned off entirely, Natasha looked at the kid.

"What, you don't like Karen?" he asked.

"No, she's great. I just don't want any sort of software tracking my every move, especially if Stark made it," the spy answered. Peter thought about it, and then, after a moment, understood why, remembering that the two didn't exactly end things on a good note.

Martha Walker stepped outside her house to water the garden. While not having too many things to feel accomplished with, if there were two things she could choose to take pride in, it would be her good nephew and her magnificent garden, if she did say so herself.

She was a middle-aged woman whose hair was graying, and her body aging. Nevertheless, she kept on living. The necklace she wore was one she kept from a long-time lover and husband, who's since passed, but somehow never left her. Her cheaply made house gown she knitted for herself fit well to her liking, as she walked about the front porch in comfortable slippers carrying the watering pot she intended to use.

From a distance, she looked just like how Natasha remembered her in the dream. Except in her dream, she was a nurse then. Though the spy couldn't exactly remember what role she played to her, Natasha felt Martha embodied a symbol of strength. Now, from the looks of it, she looked as though she worked for herself. More power to her, Natasha thought. She seemed a bit happier. Who wouldn't be after what she went through… of course, Natasha was still trying to figure out that very thing. From the bits and pieces her so-called 'memories' gave her, all she knew was that this woman, standing in front of her garden, and her nephew, wherever he could be, went through something traumatic together… and somehow Natasha was involved.

Peter stood by the blonde on the sidewalk in front of the house.

"You nervous?" he asked her.

Natasha sighed, a little annoyed by his questions yet again, but answered, "A little. I'm not sure if she'll know who I am."

"Who's she supposed to be?" he asked.

Natasha thought long and hard before answering that question as blatant as she nearly did. How was she supposed to casually tell him that she was technically his aunt, but not really _his_ aunt, but his aunt in _another_ reality?

"She's uh… okay, get ready to lose your mind again," Natasha started. "That's May Parker."

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

She smacked her mouth. "Like, remember what I said about parallels and stuff? Well, that's her. That's Aunt May, but not _your_ Aunt May."

"Whaaat?"

"I told it was going to sound insane-

"How in the world can-

"Just relax. Hear me out-

"Look Romanoff, with all due respect, I know you've seen some strange things in your life, and you've been through alot with Sokovia and all, and Berlin, and all that, but this is-

Natasha grabbed his shoulder, which shut him up instantly.

"I know this doesn't make any sense. But… I really need your help." she said, looking him in the eye.

"Why? Why do you need me here with you? I don't even know these people."

"I need you because maybe…" she really didn't have an explanation as to why she needed him, not one that made sense to him. "Maybe the two of you meeting each other might trigger something. Just something. I don't _know_ what. I'm honestly figuring this out as I go. I don't know what else to tell you. Sorry."

At least she was honest, he thought. At least she said she was sorry, despite the confidence that he got from her. It was clearly something above both of their levels of comprehension.

"Well… are we gonna say hi?" Peter said.

Natasha looked to Martha. Avoiding awkward confrontations was something she was good at when it came to 'playing a part' on the job, but now, she wanted it to be for real this time. No bullshit. No lies. That was the only way to do this.

Approaching the front porch next to the garden, ensuring not to walk through the grass out of respect for their well-tended lawn, the two felt equally nervous as they got closer to the woman. Each hair on Natasha's neck and arms stood up. She wasn't quite sure _what_ might happen when she made eye contact with the woman. Would there be some sort of crazy rip in the time-space-continuum? Or was that just in the movies? As far as she was concerned, if a giant portal can open above New York sending a Chitauri raid down on the city, anything was possible now. So Natasha kept stepping forward, not turning back now after committing this far.

Martha saw the two approaching. To them, they looked like kids. Perhaps brother and sister? Either way, she sat down her watering pot on the porch ledge to acknowledge them.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

Natasha didn't want to make this more awkward than it already was. If she didn't recognize her, then there was no way she really could.

"Hi," Natasha spoke as kindly as she could, probably not to her liking. "I'm sure you don't know who I am, or even remember, but… we've met before."

The woman, dumbstruck, certainly didn't recognize Natasha. For the spy, that was okay. The once May Parker crossed her arms as she tilted her head, taking small steps forward to get a better look at the blonde. Her without-a-doubt beautiful aesthetic striking some sort of admiration in Martha, Natasha could tell she didn't recognize her. And somehow, the spy expected this to happen. Even after what she told Peter, Natasha Romanoff was a pessimist before an optimist, always.

Martha slowly shook her head, "I don't remember us meeting...," she said, more as a question than an answer, still quite unsure.

Natasha nodded, and actually found it quite funny. "Well, the truth is… I don't remember us meeting either. You… came to me in a dream… so did your nephew." Martha became alarmed now. "I don't know- I don't remember how we knew each other, but I feel like we did somehow. I have these memories of us meeting, but… I don't know how they got there. They brought me here somehow. I don't have any other explanation as to how it led me right here specifically to you."

"You know Ben?" Martha asked.

Natasha only recognized that name from what the _other_ Parker mentioned as his uncle. Uncle Ben. That registered, but why was she asking her about him?

"Your husband?" Natasha said. She could tell that triggered something in Martha.

"Wow…," the woman uttered. "Sorry, I, uh… I haven't heard anyone else mention him to me in so long. I just… sorry, sorry, I'm getting off track. No, I meant my nephew, Ben. Yes… my late husband's name was Ben as well, in case you were wondering… how did you know that?"


	5. Intertwined

**Intertwined**

Gazing at the many intricate pieces of fine china displayed about the walls, young Peter Parker (in Natasha's reality) curiously looked around, hands in pockets, pacing one direction to the next. Just from the looks of it, he knew _this_ Aunt May had decorative style much like his own, with the house's brown and white aesthetic appropriately suiting the interior. Despite merely being a guest, Peter felt very much at home - as though he never left. Something about the house gave an aura of familiarity, and an unusual energy that seemed to 'breathe' within its walls, as though it possessed a life force of its own. It even smelled like Aunt May's house back in Queens. Sweet lavender. It's what _she_ smelled like also. Each sniff the boy took was an aroma of bliss, taking in its very essence.

Natasha sat patiently at the dining room table, legs and arms crossed, eying the webhead move about like a child that can't sit still. She rolled her eyes and shifted her attention back to the pictures on the wall. They were pictures of Martha Walker (formerly May Parker), what Natasha assumed to be Ben Parker, and without a doubt, Peter Parker. It looked just like him. The Parker _she_ remembers. They were a beautiful family, she thought. Small, and a little broken maybe, but beautiful regardless. Still more than what she ever had. As Natasha's eyes shifted their focus from one picture frame to another, seeing pictures of a younger May and Ben Parker, and eventually seeing a young Peter Parker, all the way from baby pictures to a full grown adult, her head began to ache. It certainly had to do with the pictures...

Placing her hand against her forehead, Natasha looked to the kid still pacing about and making noise with his tapping foot. She knew he obviously isn't the one triggering it, but dammit, he needed to sit down.

"Parker, can you please relax?" the redhead calmly asked.

The kid immediately locked up, as though he'd been shot with a freeze ray right where he stood, and gave a passive nod. He turned his head back to the china and observed its many patterns, needing to place his attention onto _something_. Natasha quietly shook her head, her hand still placed against it. She couldn't really blame him, though. Just being here alone was odd, and if anything, it was more uncomfortable for him being here than for her.

They both heard footsteps approaching from the kitchen heading their way. With that, Peter walked towards the table and stood next to Natasha, still sitting in her chair. He made sure to remain a good foot or two away from her. Martha Walker brought in a finely craft wooden tray with three teacups and a warm freshly brewed pot placed along, and sat it down on the table for them to drink. Kindly, pouring each of them their own cup, to which the two sincerely thanked her, the woman then took her own chair and pulled it out for herself to sit in. Before she did so, however, she gave a glance to the young brunet still standing by Natasha.

"You just like standing, don't you?" the woman teased, cocking a brow.

The kid gave a nervous chuckle. "Oh, I just, uh, don't like to assume when I'm in other people's homes - lovely by the way."

Miss Walker found him quite amusing. There was something about him. She gave a warm smile in exchange.

"Well thank you," she said, "And please, get comfortable. It's not often I have guests, so don't worry, no one's breaking in the furniture no time soon." She gave him a wink. If she really was his aunt in a parallel universe, Peter was already convinced she'd be the coolest aunt anyone could ask for.

The tempting smell of the tea before her kept calling for Natasha, so she gave in and took a sip. Placing her cup back down, the blonde gave an approving nod, raising her eyebrows with surprise.

"Delicious," Natasha commented.

"Thanks," Martha replied. "It's organic Darjeeling. The secret is just the right amount of honey."

Peter then took his sip, to which he repeated the same as the spy, and he wasn't even a tea lover himself. After taking her sip and bending back into her chair, letting out a sigh to change the mood, Martha looked to Natasha, knowing there was only one thing to discuss now.

"So," Martha began, "I never truly got the chance to thank you in person for everything you did for us… which is why I'm glad you returned."

The spy looked at her cup of tea sitting on the table, as though it had the answers for her. What did she mean by return? How did they meet in the first place? For once though, even if she somehow was brainwashed into forgetting these memories in the first place, Natasha was grateful that whatever this woman meant to her, it was something meaningful. Something heroic she did for her - and her nephew.

"You said your nephew's name was Ben," Natasha slowly spoke. She quickly glanced at the kid next to her and then back to Martha. "In my dreams… his name was Peter. Peter Parker."

Martha looked at the spy rather puzzled by her words. "Well, yes… we used to be the Parkers, of course. But, then with the whole incident of having our lives in danger, we had no choice… right? You were there."

Lives in danger? Natasha leaned forward. "What happened? What do you remember?" she asked.

"Everything," the woman answered. "Nearly everything from that night… don't you?"

Natasha wished she did. "I'm sorry… the truth is I don't. I'm not sure what's happened to me, but I've forgotten everything… everything about you and your nephew. I only remember you two as May and Peter Parker. I'm not sure if I was tortured and brainwashed or something, but whatever happened, I think there's something even weirder going on."

Martha frowned. "Weirder how?" she asked.

"As in…" Before she continued, Natasha looked at the Peter Parker next to her, almost as if needing some sort of approval from him. He slowly nodded, and then Natasha turned again to face the woman. "This kid here with me… his name is Peter Parker as well. He also has an aunt named May Parker. And he…"

Before she said anything else, Peter gestured for Natasha to stop, out of fear that she might blow his cover. This May Parker perhaps already knows her own nephew's secret… or maybe not at all. Regardless, it wasn't his place to tell it all. If they were truly dealing with alternate realms, he didn't want to interfere.

"He has many other similarities to your nephew," Natasha finished. But Martha wasn't any less confused. If anything, it only confused her more.

"I'm not understanding…" the woman said, shaking her head.

"I still don't fully understand it either," Natasha replied, "But - as crazy as this will sound - I think either we're dealing with a situation that involved some sort of identity crisis… or parallel universes."

"Parallel universes?"

Natasha nodded.

"But…" the woman scoffed with a little humor, "that's ridiculous. I'm sure May Parker and Peter Parker aren't uncommon names in this country, let alone New York. Now sure, I think it's very coincidental that there happens to be another aunt with the same name, who also happens to have a nephew of the same as well, but…"

Natasha could see that she wasn't quite getting through to the woman. The Parker sitting next to her in his mind began to question the legitimacy of the situation himself. Perhaps this all was coincidental. But, despite his opinions of Romanoff, he knew she couldn't be _that_ crazy to drag him all the way out here for nothing. Then again, he never once doubted that she _was_ crazy.

"You really don't remember, huh?" Martha softly spoke.

"... No," Natasha quietly answered. It was time for Martha to let it all out, from her perspective, she supposed.

"Well," the woman began, "I remember I was at work. I was still a nurse then. And… just as I was getting off my shift to head back home, I got a call from… _Peter…_ that I was in danger and not to come home.

"I was so confused. I didn't understand what all was happening. He was talking so fast. He'd been gone all day. All I remember was being angry with him for not telling me where he was. I tried to call him that entire day - he had me worried sick. Then he said some guys were after me - after _him._ He sounded desperate… then that's when he put you on the phone."

As she said that, more of Natasha's 'repressed memories' began to open some more. She found herself at a phone booth… with _him._ The _other_. It was night. Both of their faces were badly bruised, and slightly bloody. The blonde waited for Martha to explain more.

"You explained everything," the woman continued. "That you were the girl from before. Cathryn."

 _Cathryn,_ the name sounded in Natasha's head. "Cathryn Jones," the spy whispered.

"Yes…" said Martha. "You told us that you were an agent working for SHIELD? Some… organization - some spy group, something like that - I think that's how Peter explained it later. You said that the same same men trying to kill me, were the same ones trying to kill you and Peter. He later told me who they were, after this was all over… HYDRA."

The name somehow still managed to send chills down Natasha's spine. She took in a deep breath. So they were the ones responsible for all of this, she thought. This is what tied them all together…

"Peter told me all about them," Martha went on. "Told me that they were the enemy. They kidnapped him… and you. They…" She did her best to fight her tears, but to no avail. "... Tortured him. They tortured my boy… they tried to make him talk… and…" Trying to get through her words, still struggling to make it through her tears, Natasha was patient.

"I understand, take your time," she nodded.

Martha sniffled and pulled it together.

"You helped us go into hiding," Martha continued. "SHIELD helped us. You helped me get out of the hospital safely without those men finding me. You guided me through everything… you saved my life. You saved my nephew's."

She probably looked crazy to the woman, but Natasha had to sit back and brace herself against all of the images flooding into her head, trying to piece them together. Martha was helping, though. Her details added some sort of linear pattern to it all, as before they only seemed like a jumbled mess of flashbacks with no timeline. Only now did slowly start to make sense… being tortured… on the run… HYDRA… did they do something to her?

"I… I'm still trying to understand how I forgot all of this," Natasha sincerely stated. "If this all really happened, then how could-

The doorbell rang. That got everyone's attention.

"Oh… look who it is," Martha muttered.

Natasha already had an idea of who it could be. "Is that…"

Before she could finish, Martha got up from the table to answer the door. The brunet, still fazed by the story unveiled before him, looked at the spy with a worried look. Unfortunately, hers was no less. They both heard the sound of the door opening, and Martha sounding delighted at whoever it was. From what Natasha could tell, it sounded like two people, one male and one female. Then the footsteps were heading back their way.

Natasha stood from the table, anxious to meet them. The kid did the same, not really having a choice but to follow along at this point.

"What's happening?" he whispered to her. She didn't answer. She kept her eyes fixed at the end of the hall where the front door stayed. Once she saw the stranger finally walk in, an intense numbness in her head began to form. And once he turned to see her, Natasha finally got what she came for. It was _him._ There was also a girl with him, a redhead. She figured it must've been his lover. She was pretty.

Locking eyes with her, the _other_ took slow steps her way, trying to get a good look at Natasha. Her hair was different, he thought. It was blonde now. And he wondered who the kid was with her. Something about him… gave him a weird feeling. As if he _knew_ him already. But his main focus was on Natasha, who he hadn't seen in so long, and couldn't believe she was standing before him in his aunt's home.

"Natasha?" he softly spoke.

The Parker standing next to the spy caught on pretty quickly who this guy was. And, in his silly brain, he agreed that _this_ guy was much better-looking than him after all.


	6. Inbetween

**Inbetween**

Martha Walker, Mary Jane, and Peter Parker - of this reality - occupied the dining room in awkward silence. Trying to make sense of the situation proved futile for either one of them. The truth was that there wasn't any way to make 'sense' of anything that was happening. Alternate realities? Parallel dimensions? They were all things of science fiction. Clearly, that argument no longer made sense anymore given the timeline of events having occurred now. So accepting it all as is seemed to be the only way in coping with it.

Shifting her head as subtly as possible, Mary Jane every now and then took quick peeks at the young Peter Parker sitting at the table. Arms crossed, she stood against the sink next to the fridge closer to Martha, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table from the kid. Her attention was drawn to him, as though he carried an invisible orb of influence. He certainly seemed normal, but MJ couldn't quite put her finger on what made him so captivating. Out of worry not to alarm her, Peter didn't let her know that he could easily tell that she kept shooting glances at him. He didn't blame her either.

"Is your maiden name Reilly?" the kid asked, breaking the silence.

Martha gave him an odd look. "Yes. It is," she answered.

"How long have you guys been here?" Mary Jane asked, cutting out the conversation entirely.

"Uh… I'd say about," Peter looked to Martha, who shrugged, and then back to MJ, "30… 40 minutes?"

Martha nodded in confirmation with him. She really didn't know. Or cared.

"So you guys are friends of Ben?" the redhead asked.

She asked tough questions, in Peter's head. He scrunched his face and scratched his head, not sure how to explain it all without Natasha's consent first. "Mmm," he answered with, not expecting a follow-up.

"It's a little complicated, MJ," Martha told her.

"A little?" she shot back.

"Yes… a little. I don't have any answers to it all yet, but we're trying to figure this thing out as we go. I know it's confusing, but bare with me, this is all hitting me at once just like it is with you."

The redhead fell silent again. Again, it seemed the best way to make sense of the whole situation. Silence. Acceptance.

"Peter, would you like some more tea?" she asked the boy, snapping him out of la-la land.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," he timidly answered. He reached for the pot sitting on the table still, about the pour it himself, to which Martha raised her hand gesturing for him not to worry.

"You want some tea, Mary Jane?" Martha asked.

At this point, what else could she do? Perhaps they should all just think this over with some nice warm tea.

"… Sure," the young lady hesitantly complied. "Is it chai?"

"Darjeeling."

It'd been so long since he last saw Natasha Romanoff. How he even remembered her name surprised him as much as it did her. So many memories of his became jumbled over the past few weeks that he couldn't tell anymore what was real or not. He dreamed about her. He knew exactly what she looked like. That's how he knew it was her the moment he laid eyes on her when he came through the door.

Ben, formerly known as Peter Parker to the spy, stood by the sliding patio door, gazing out at the backyard full of Martha's many well-furnished plants. Natasha stood by the couch in the living area, facing him, still needing more answers. She still had no clue what happened between them, other than the details Martha Walker revealed to her.

"I'm sorry to come unannounced like this," Natasha spoke. "But I don't know much of what's going on. I know that you and I - and your aunt - we've experienced something in common. I don't know what for some reason. Maybe my memory's been erased, or I was brainwashed into forgetting the whole thing. That's a more logical explanation to it all… but there's just something telling me that isn't the case. I think something… stranger is going on. I need to found out what."

Taking his attention away from the yard now, the other Peter Parker faced Natasha, intrigued by her answer. If it wasn't strange enough that he couldn't remember the many important things that have happened to him, even an entire year of high school, he was all ears for what Natasha had to say in an effort to try and top this off.

"You remember me," Natasha went on. "How? What do you remember about me?"

"You're a SHIELD agent," he answered. "An Avenger. You helped me escape from HYRDA. My aunt, too. You helped us start a new life - here. Changed our identities and everything." He paused momentarily and gave Natasha a suspicious look. "Have you been having strange dreams lately, too?"

The spy nodded out of relief. She was only relieved because she wasn't the only one now. He had them as well.

"Yes," she softly spoke. "A lot of them. Not just dreams, but visions, too. Even when I'm awake. That's how I found you here. They led me to you and your aunt."

Peter nodded and scratched the tip of his nose. He slowly made his way to the couch across from her, taking a seat. His body began to feel rather sluggish the moment he entered the house.

"Well, I had visions of you also," he said. "Vivid ones. They were kinda like scenes that played out between you and I. I figured they were actual memories that happened between us. Some were happier than others. And then some were like nightmares."

"Tell me…" Natasha said as she took a seat on the arm of the couch.

"There's happier ones of me and you sitting on a park bench, or out having a coffee. Another of you and I on a rooftop for some reason." He started to feel uneasy. "And then… I can remember one where… it involved Spider-Man. I'm not sure why, though?"

In the back of her mind, Natasha began to question whether or not he even remembers that he himself was the webslinger. She wondered if it actually mattered or not, since the other Parker had to keep his secret also. But since they were basically one in the same…

He went on, "There was a girl, a blonde. I don't know who she was, but in the dream she fell to her death. We were at the top of a clock tower. I was Spider-Man. I tried to save her - I tried to catch her with my web, but…"

Natasha can only vaguely remember any talks about a blonde girl from the memories. That was the only thing that she couldn't trigger yet by talking with him.

"The thing is, I can't remember that much either," Peter admitted. "All I remember is you and I being kidnapped by an organization called HYRDA, and then you getting us out, and me and my aunt moving on with our new lives. The rest is a blur."

"So you remember your old name, right?" Natasha inquired. This threw him off.

"I mean, yeah. Of course. Peter Parker."

Natasha nodded. She pointed at the closed door that led to the kitchen. "Well, that kid in there who came with me? His name is Peter Parker as well. Same deal and everything. Has no siblings. Lives alone with his aunt, whose name was also May Parker. And-" Before she continued, Natasha made sure not to blow Peter's cover as Spider-Man again. "There's many other similarities," she finished.

"What?" he questioned, expectedly.

"It's weird, I know. But… I think he's a parallel version of you, in the same reality somehow. Or at least I think it's the same."

"Na - Natasha, think about what you're saying."

"I have thought about it. And it doesn't sound as crazy anymore. I've confirmed with some of my sources."

"Your sources?"

"I haven't told anyone else. Not even him," she said as she gestured her head towards the kitchen door. Natasha wasn't exactly sure she should be telling this Peter either, but at this point what did it matter anymore?

"You mean to tell me you think there's actual parallel universes among us that have somehow merged with our own? That's really what you're saying?"

"SHIELD collected intelligence on otherworldly beings since the start of this mess. The attack on New York City. It opened the door to a lot of things, good and bad. But from what they gathered, along with the Tesseract, and the person responsible, Loki - the god of mischief - his scepter held a stone within it, too, that he used to control minds. Other assets of ours - that are also not of this world - have helped us understand that there are these things called 'infinity stones'."

To him, this all sounded like a child's fantasy book. But he listened anyway, curious to see where this would go next.

"From what we know, there's six of them. The one Loki possessed was the Mind Stone. It is what it sounds like - that's how he was able to control other people's minds. The Tesseract was another that could open portals to other worlds, hence the Chitauri invasion. And then there was another we learned about, called the Aether. Others referred to it as the Reality Stone. At full power, whoever holds it can actually use it to manipulate reality around them. Including our own."

"So you think the reason behind all of this is that someone's holding the stone and using it against us?"

"I don't know, but I think it's a strong possibility. There doesn't seem to be any other explanation as to how. Trust me when I say if you had told me all of this years ago, before any of this happened, I would've looked at you crazy as well. But I'm not making this up. There are other worlds beyond this one. And now… other realities, too, I guess."

Ben had nothing to say, really. Everything he wanted to would only make Natasha more infuriated, he presumed. So he kept silent, but remained thoughtful. If it was all true, then he really had a lot to learn about the many other cosmic principles of the universe like she said, despite what he already knew.

"But despite all this… I guess it's good to see you again," she said.

Ben smiled. "Same."

Martha opened the kitchen door. The two turned their attention to her, and she looked at Natasha.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" the woman asked.

Natasha and Ben exchanged looks, and then Natasha thought about the kid. She knew his aunt was probably worried sick. If they were going to stay, she needed to discuss it with him first, unfortunately. As funny as it was, Natasha needed a kid's approval first in this situation.

"I'll have to ask this guy," Natasha said, looking over Martha and at the brunet standing from his seat at the table. "But I'd love to."

"Ask me what?" he said from across.

"Is your aunt cool with you staying for dinner?" Natasha asked.

"Probably not. She's already gonna kill me when I get home, but I'll explain it to her." He nervously chuckled.

Martha gave him a look. Then she looked to Ben. "Sounds like something you two have experience with at that age," she commented.

Natasha's smirk suddenly turned into a frown, and her eyes grew wide as she kept looking over Martha's shoulder and at the kid.

"Parker," she said, seriously. "Your nose."

Now she had him worried, too. Martha turned to look at him also, to her own surprise. His nose was bleeding badly. Mary Jane rushed from the table to get him a paper towel.

"Is he okay?" Ben asked.

Natasha didn't answer. She rushed into the kitchen to the boy's aid, as did Martha. Peter took the paper towel Mary Jane put up to his face himself, and applied pressure to soak the fluid.

"Here, stand over the sink," Martha ordered. "No use in trying to tilt your head back. That never works."

Martha led him towards the sink. Natasha and Mary Jane watched as he let the rest of the blood pour down the drain. Why was this happening, Peter wondered. He's never gotten a nosebleed a day in his life. And to make matters worse, his head was starting to hurt also, making it all the more scary for his first time.

"Are you okay, Parker?" Natasha asked, concerned. He was her responsibility now.

"I'm alright," he said, lying. "This has never happened before."

At that point, Ben stepped into the kitchen to see what was going on. Natasha glanced at him and then back at the other Parker. _Does this answer your question now_ , she thought.


	7. Perception

**Perception**

Ivan Robinson stormed into the dimly lit room, fuming. Even in his state of anger he couldn't help but glance around the well-decorated room filled with movie tropes and props of all sorts plastered everywhere. It was a movie buff's dream-come-true. The man before him, with his back turned as he sat at his 'working table', highly focused on whatever intricate project he was cooking up this time with merely a lamp serving as his light, paid no mind to the angry footsteps heading his way.

"We need to talk," Ivan angrily stated.

"What about, Robinson?" the other one replied.

"Everything. This whole… _everything_! The schemes, the lies, the games, what have you."

"Well where would the fun be without any of that?"

He clearly thought this was a joke to him.

"My own perception of reality is breaking!" Ivan pleaded. "My life is starting to become an illusion! The longer I play this game, the harder it's becoming for me to hold onto who _I_ am!"

"We talked about this-"

"No, no more bullshit! This is not what you said would happen! You didn't say anything about this crap!"

"Relax-"

"If I had even the slightest bit of sense left in me the moment I agreed to-"

The man stood from his desk and turned to look Ivan in the eye, which left him speechless. It wasn't his _real_ face, but one he was certain Ivan knew very well. It looked just like him, too, as though he were a completely different person altogether. The piercing brown eyes he wore saw right through him. A face from Ivan's past he didn't expect to come up again. Ivan now regretted telling him about the ordeal in the first place.

"Go on. What were you saying?" the other man taunted, wearing the face as though it were his own. "You said if you had the slightest sense in the moment you agreed to what?"

"You bastard…" Ivan whispered

"You should be mindful who you tell your secrets to from now on then… Ivy."

"Don't… stop it."

"Hmm, you really aren't much fun are you? Even if you were just playing pretend."

"Enough, Quentin."

"I mean, nobody would have to know-"

"Listen! I don't know how much longer you insist on keeping this game up, but sooner or later I'm gonna have to draw the line here!"

"You _are_ the one who agreed to it all, weren't you? Suddenly you're having second thoughts?"

Shaking his head spitefully, Ivan turned away from him, looking around the room once more out of disgust more than amusement, and headed out the door. As he did so, the man at the desk looked in the small mirror placed aside him, gazing into his real face. Turning it here and there, getting glimpses at different angles, after only a short while, the shapeshifter violently took hold of the small mirror in his hand, and smashed it against the desk, shattering it into small pieces. He then looked down at the fragments of his face, scattered about in many different positions. Perhaps it was better that way.


	8. Deception

**Deception**

 _Queens, New York_

 _9:55 PM_

Maybe if he wasn't too loud, perhaps Peter thought he could get back into his room without disturbing Aunt May, and that in turn would allow him to avoid any angry confrontation with her, which he knew was inevitable regardless. He would have to talk to her anyways. This was still her domain and her rules. She deserves to know where he'd been all this time. The problem was exactly how he would explain it all to her, if he even should.

Closing the front door behind him, gently and cautiously as to not make too much noise, the young boy walked into a trap of its own once he saw his aunt standing ahead between the kitchen and living room area, arms crossed with a deadpan expression. If he looked closer into her eyes, he would see pure discontent instead.

"Uh… hey," the boy said, caught in the act.

"Hey," she replied, seemingly unbothered. He knew she was pissed, though. "How was studying?"

"… It was- "

"You know what, I don't even want to know the details. I just wanna know why you think you can just stand there and lie right to my face," she spat, furious than ever.

"Aunt May, I- "

"Don't tell me you're sorry. Not now. I know this is gonna happen again - at _some_ point. I - It's unpreventable! I can't! I just… I can't control this!"

She talked with her hands, and then gestured them at Peter. He knew exactly what she meant.

"It wasn't about that, Aunt May," Peter pleaded. "I promise it wasn't about that at all."

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head. "I still can't contemplate how the hell I'm supposed to live with this. I can barely figure out how _you_ do it."

Almost getting everything off her chest, the woman took a deep breath, sighed, and then made her way to the couch in front of him. As she crossed him, Peter shifted his attention towards something else as to not even get a glance of her eyes locking with his for even a second. May then took a seat, and brushed her bang from over her glasses.

"I need to know… that what you do in a daily basis being… who you are, that I shouldn't have to worry if you've been gone for a while, then that means you're in deep shit or something," she spoke frankly.

"Aunt May- "

"Let me finish. I need you to know that just because I know your little secret now, doesn't mean you get to stress my life out even more. I mean, it's stressful enough that _you're_ who I'm raising, but damn, I need you to help me _not_ feel that way. I don't even like to watch the news anymore because I hear them talking about you all the time! It's scary!"

After a brief moment, Peter took the opportunity to have his chance.

"Aunt May, can I talk now?" he quickly spurted.

"What?" she irritatingly muttered.

"I wasn't out doing anything crazy today. Alright? I was just… catching up with an old friend."

"Who? Stark?"

"No, not him. Someone else."

"Anyone of those other super-powered friends of yours? The Avengers, or whatever."

"… Yeah, kinda."

"Who?" she sternly asked.

If he told her, he figured that'd really throw her for a loop. But what choice did he have?

"… Natasha. Romanoff," he finished. She arched a brow.

"Black Widow?" He nodded. "Why were you with her?"

"It's… it's a long story, but she needed help tracking someone from I guess her past? Or something like that. None of it made sense at first, but, to be honest, I don't want any bigger part of it… now."

The few feet of space between them grew further in his mind, as to not make the tension in the room anymore awkward. May's eyes fixated on him, studying him, searching for some answer within. She could tell he seemed a lot more honest about this than the lie he told earlier about studying with Michelle. If he truly spent time on a mission with the Black Widow, and admitted to feeling a bit more than uneasy about it, then perhaps giving him the benefit of the doubt should rest in her favor. She knew that would give him the satisfaction, of course, getting away with his wrongdoing to her, but… she understood. Knowing who he was now, _what_ he was, she no longer felt as though she had any form of authority over him. What could she really do? Tell him _not_ to go save the world? _Not_ to help others? It proved as a bittersweet paradox she put herself in that only stressed her out the more she thought of it. The thought of her nephew no longer being in her grasp, no longer being her little boy and being out in the world doing who-knows-what hit her like a freight train.

"Okay," she quietly spoke. "Okay," she nodded this time.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, even though she didn't want to hear it.

"I know. I'm still pissed, but I know." She stood up from the couch and opened up her arms. "C'mon," she motioned with her hand.

It's not like it was in front of the school or anything, so the boy surrendered and considered this just as equal as any other sort of punishment she could give him. Peter accepted her embrace, and returned the favor. She planted her head gently on his shoulder.

"You don't get Thai this weekend," she said.

"Aw, c'mon," he groaned.

"Mm-hmm."

* * *

Hotel room number '47'. Not the first and certainly not the last place the spy would find herself 'hiding out' under the radar. Now that she thought about it, Romanoff couldn't actually recall the first time she was on the run. At this point it felt like a routine. She knew all the necessary steps to take in order to succeed at it. After Berlin, HYDRA… and _him._ Parker. But the _other_ Parker. The 'taller' one, as she'd refer to him in her head. Meeting with him and his aunt again helped more than she hoped. It was a great help. They answered more questions than she could have imagined, especially over May's well-cooked roast she prepared for dinner. However, more questions still needed to be answered, not to mention the most obvious one as to how this all is even possible, let alone conceivable for her. Sooner or later she was going to need help from outside sources.

Crashing onto her hotel bed, then turning her head to the nightstand next to her, Natasha stared at her golden necklace with an 'arrow'-shaped charm sitting atop. She turned over closer to the edge so she could reach it. Sometimes she liked to just play with it in her hands to give them some sort of stimulation. Better than assembling and disassembling a gun, she figured. Natasha also found comfort in how it glistened in the lampshade. Clint gave it to her as a gift years back, around the time they first met. For her, it had a double meaning. The arrow was for his obvious trademark as a master archer, but also due to the fact that she was a Sagittarius. At least that's how she liked to interpret it.

Looking at the charm made her think of the same thing every time. Being on a team. Like she was a part of something. Black Widow isn't exactly a 'team player' title, but things did change for the better. She owed Clint Barton a lot. Natasha knew this. Even despite recent events, at the end of the day, they both knew it was nothing personal, really.

" _We're still friends, right?"_

" _Depends on how hard you hit me."_

She smiled, playing with the necklace in her hands, shuffling it here and there. It soothed her soul at its best. Kept her sanity in check. Someway, somehow, she would figure this whole thing out. Whether it truly was the Aether she referred to earlier to be manipulating reality, or something else entirely, she'd know in time. The truth was that Natasha never felt smaller than before. After seeing portals open to different dimensions, and many other things SHIELD intelligence gathered over the years, the spy realized that her very existence, and many others around her became more irrelevant than ever. There were much bigger things than her now. This was no exception either. Dealing with alternate realities definitely wasn't on her list of credentials. She wouldn't know the first thing about metaphysics and the principles of warping reality and matter.

The arrow glistened and sent a gold light ray straight into her eye. Distracting her, Clint crossed her mind again.

" _This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."_

That was years ago. She remembered that day. The rest could certainly agree the same. Everyone remembered that day. But for Natasha, it didn't what everyone else thought. It didn't matter if Cap felt heroic and alive once again after 70 years in that good-old American fashion, or if Stark's ego felt bigger than the Empire State, or any of that. Natasha felt for the first time, ever, that she could make a difference. That Loki and the Chitauri couldn't hold shit on her that day, or any day after that. She knew it wouldn't erase all the bad things she _had_ done in the past, but screw it. Might as well start making more good deeds while she was at it.

 _...nothing we were ever trained for._

Natasha scoffed. She gave herself the answer this whole time it seems even after all this time. If she didn't train in magic and monsters, then so be it. She'd find out the answers, but her way. The way she's been doing it all these years. As she dangled the charm in front of her, watching the arrow revolve left and right, it seemed to signify her next thought. Her target. Who would be her next target, and how would she get the necessary answers?

"Selvig," she said out loud to herself.

But what was she to do without the kid, though? He clearly held some answer that neither one of them knew yet. The nosebleed. He said he'd never experienced one before. So why now of all times? Natasha couldn't just let that one slide. He was a good kid - a _kid_ , to be exact - and she knew to keep pressuring him into more and more stress-inducing situations was pitiful, even for her. But she needed his help, even if he didn't want to give it to her.

* * *

Peter remembered Natasha's words, once he found her in his home uninvited, that she would be out of his hair once this was all over. Of course, he didn't believe it. Now that he was in this deep, backing down proved out of the question. She probably carefully planned for this to happen in order to have his full cooperation, he wondered. Everyone knew how manipulative the Black Widow could be. In her defense, at least it seemed for the right reasons. Nevertheless, the kid didn't trust her as far as he could spit.

Staying up all night and letting his mind run wild didn't help him fall asleep any better, though. Every time he tried, he was terrified by whatever dream he'd awaken to. Each one revealing a unique horror of its own. One where he died a most brutal death at the hands of someone still unknown to him. All he could recall was that whoever it was, they certainly were not of this world. Almost god-like. They were powerful, more so than anything he'd ever witnessed. Stark appeared in the dream as well. From what he remembered, the billionaire kneeled by his side as he bled out, losing his life by each breath. The look in Stark's eyes… it frightened Peter. In his mind, Stark _was_ god-like to him. Proud. Confident. Unbreakable. But in that moment, in the dream, he'd never seen him more broken than before. Utter defeat all over his face.

" _I'm sorry,"_ Peter remembered saying to him, as though he had failed his mentor. But it was Stark that appeared more remorseful. He failed _him._

And that was all he could remember before waking up, relieved to be still alive in his bed. His body was shaking uncontrollably. It felt real, to the point that he couldn't retain himself. He cowered in the corner of his bed as long as he needed before returning to sleep. It didn't mean anything, he told himself. That was his mistake. Following that nightmare, another came before him. This one he believed to be even worse. He woke to a reality in which the police pulled Peter from school. Worried that his identity may have been exposed, it proved to be something much more sickening, and something that Peter wished he could forever suppress in the buried subconscious of his mind. They told him that Aunt May had been found murdered in their home. A passerby had witnessed the crime, and reported it to the authorities as soon as they could. It was undoubtedly far too late. Then everything around him seemed to pause in frame, while he still remained present in the dream. Begging and pleading for answers, not believing it to be true, it drove Peter mad when no one around him could respond. They were frozen, with their eyes still stuck in a wide open gaze, fixated on him wherever he'd move.

" _Who did this?!"_ he cried. " _Please, listen to me! … who did this to her? Y-You have to tell me…"_

His tears did nothing to get their attention. The fact that he couldn't get through to them tormented him even more. Crying in his dream felt as though it might give some break in the illusion. But the longer he stayed in it, the more it began to feel like reality. Fear like this… he couldn't take it. These nightmares couldn't have appeared to him by chance. He didn't eat anything crazy before going to bed. This all felt out of his control. Like a higher force encompassed him, preventing him from seeing what he _wanted_ to. And thankfully, after what felt like an infinity, Peter awoke in his bed again. He left his room this time to check on Aunt May. Making sure he was still quiet, he put his head to the crack in the door leading to her bedroom. The sound of her breathing softly in her slumber released a flood of relief within him. And with that, he returned to his room yet again. He came to terms with the fact that he wouldn't get a good night's sleep this time around. Oh well. He was used to staying up, he supposed… but not for this reason.

Laying his head against the pillow, the wallcrawler at least figured he should give his body as much rest as he possibly could tonight, even if he couldn't give the same remedy for his brain. The dampness of where his tears soaked into the pillowcase felt cold to the touch against his cheek. So that really did happen. He turned the other way so it'd be of no bother to him. Facing the wall now, the kid still felt greater than uneasy. An overwhelming sense of dread engulfed him. And an uncomfortable sensation crept over him each second he chose to turn his back to the room and face the wall… as though he were being watched.


	9. Reception

**Reception**

Ben, or he supposed it was 'Peter Parker' now, felt less lost and more satisfied for the first time in weeks. The visions that'd been wildly protruding his brain ceased. It's as though the reunion with him and Natasha brought a small bit of stability to the whole ordeal. Sure, he still had many unanswered questions, such as how or why did he see himself as Spider-Man in his dreams, and of course his supposed 'doppelganger' coming into the picture, with apparently another 'May Parker' as his aunt. But at least they were getting somewhere. His fascination with science appeared limitless, as he spent much time learning new theories and principle revolving around complex topics like quantum physics and advanced engineering. Though, for him, a line had to be drawn at some point regarding what was possible or not. Alternate realities? It was science fiction at best, or so he thought. But he wasn't dreaming. This was real. The dreams even felt authentic, as though he'd lived them all some time ago. Aside from the kidnapping, there was more. Recalling events prior to the incident proved to be difficult for him also. What led to it even taking place? Who was HYDRA? Why were they even after him to begin with? The list of unanswered questions only grew in length, and what 'Ben' feared the most was that he'd probably have no way of ever understanding the secret behind it all. Maybe he'd be forever in the dark in all of this, like waking from a coma with partial memory loss. He didn't know what it felt like to have memories wiped from him, but if he could imagine something just as proximate to it, this would be it.

But Natasha hadn't mentioned anything about him being Spider-Man at all, did she? That idea didn't cross his mind until now. So he guessed it was just random, however, it didn't make the idea any less strange, the thought even penetrating his subconscious to begin with. He knew - it just had to be - that the webslinger had some connection to all of this. If everything else had been adding up thus far, there's no reason to doubt this also.

Following his regular route home after class, Ben took the train on the way back. He sat to himself like always with his head hanging low and headphones plugged into both ears. Spontaneously, a small tingling sensation began trickling down his spine, starting from the head. Ben jerked his hand up towards the back of his neck and began to scratch. He saw it as nothing more than the common itch popping up every once in a while. As the sensation began traveling down his back though, it became less irritable and suddenly gave him a sense of danger. The feeling was similar to when one goes into 'Fight or Flight' mode, except Ben didn't quite know where the danger _was._ It was strange. He'd never felt anything odd like this before (as far as he knew), his body suddenly having a mind of its own. But momentarily, the feeling came to a halt altogether. With that, the music in Ben's ears became clearer to him again as he was no longer distracted by the random itch and turned his attention back to the song currently playing. He was just about to sit his head back against the window of the train. When he did, not only did the strange feeling occur, but a piercing ominous sound followed with it, lasting for the longest one second, that sounded so loud that it drowned out his music entirely and everything around him.

Startled from the sharp sound, Ben instinctively picked his head up from the window and sat up straight this time. Looking around, he probably seemed crazy to the others aboard the train giving him awkward glances, though they quickly turned their attention away after figuring he'd just been dozing off with an abrupt awakening. If they'd only known it wasn't a normal occurrence for him. And the aura of danger returned also. What was it warning him of, he wondered. Clearly, whatever the source of the presence was, it didn't want him to get complacent. It wanted him conscious and fully alert. Goosebumps swarmed over his skin. His heart was beating faster than ever, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Realizing this, Parker did the best he could to try and maintain his ventilation, but the anxiety still remained. He looked around the train, taking note of everyone in the seats, minding their own business. Flashes of memories began to hit him once again, like a bad scratch on a reel tape. The blonde girl came back to haunt him. It was the same scenario as before, with him being Spider-Man (or at least from his perspective), and failing to save her from the fall. Just when he thought things were at peace again, of course he had to be wrong. When his stop came, he quickly exited the train, taking in the breath of fresh air outside, hoping that would aid him in some way. It didn't.

* * *

 _Upstate New York_

 _Later that night…_

Carrying his binder full of research papers in one arm, and keys in the other, Erik Selvig activated the keyless entry of his car with the push of a button, and sat his binder on the top of his car while he shoved the clutter full of boxes and papers sitting in the passenger seat onto the floor. He was a mess indeed, but an 'organized mess', as he called it. Grabbing the binder and getting in his car, he shut the door and let out a tired sigh, with God knows who what on his mind. Before he had time to put the keys in the ignition, he jumped at the sight of Romanoff sitting in the back seat through his rearview mirror.

"Relax, I'm not armed," the spy informed, as if that would make it any better.

"What the hell are you doing in my car?!" the man retorted.

"It was the only way I could get your attention without getting anywhere near Stark."

Selvig let out a scoff. "W-Well, you've certainly got my attention now - what do you want?"

"I need your help, Selvig."

"Why?"

"... It's a lot to take in right now, but I'll do the best I can to explain it."

But Selvig wasn't buying it. "Why should I be helping you? Aren't you technically a fugitive now, with Rogers?"

Technically, he was right, and Natasha figured the old man might have a reaction like the one he's having now at the sight of her. He could easily turn her in, and with Stark's tech, it wouldn't be that hard for him to track her down, despite her being the Black Widow. She supposed if he wouldn't comply, rendering him unconscious would be an easy fix. Though, that's not really what she wanted. She wanted - _needed_ \- his trust.

Natasha sighed. "Selvig, I know what you're thinking right now, and I know your knowledge of the situation that went down might be a little… misinterpreted… but I'm not your enemy. You have to believe me on that."

"Look who's talking," he remarked, half-jokingly. "The master of lies and deception, second only to Thor's lunatic brother."

Natasha nodded. "Yeah… I lie for a living, and I have to live with that. But despite how selfish you may think I am, this situation at hand is much bigger than me. Bizarre, actually. I honestly don't know anyone else who might have extensive knowledge on portals and alternate dimensions more than you."

He didn't want to admit, but her words actually sparked a slight interest in Selvig.

"What's going on, Romanoff?" he asked, curious and suspicious.

There was really no way to make it sound unpeculiar. "Um… there's two Spider-Mans - Spider- _Men_? - or whatever, roaming around." It was clear on Selvig's face that he was puzzled. "Trust me, I'm just as confused as you are, but I think the only explanation has to be that the _other_ Parker had to have slipped from another dimension or something into _our_ reality. I don't know how any of this interdimensional lingo works, but if I'm right…"

"How do you know there's another Spider-Man? You've seen him in action - the _other_?" he asked.

Natasha hesitated. What was the point of protecting identities at this point? They'd all found out together soon enough anyways. Screw it, she thought.

"I knew him… in another reality. It sounds crazy, but I know. I've been having memories, memories that I didn't know existed, just popping up out of nowhere. At first I thought it was brainwashing or something, or that my memories had been wiped, but going over everything that's happened and retracing recent events, I know that's not the case. Something much weirder is going on…"

"So, you're telling me you knew this person in another… _reality_ , you believe? H-How is that even-"

That's why I need your help. If anyone can figure this crap out, it's you. Your resume says it all."

He let in a breath, and then exhaled through his nose, giving a look of submission.

"Well, I suppose you'll kill me if I don't help you," he said, once again half-jokingly. Natasha's response was different from what he expected, with her tilting her head and giving a look of slight disgust mixed with humility, as though he offended her. "Explain more to me on the way. I'll have to make a pot of coffee when I get home for this."

With that, he put the keys in and started the car.


	10. Inquiry

**Inquiry**

Stepping into his new apartment with Romanoff to accompany, Selvig hastily removed his coat and hung it on the coat hanger meeting them by the front door, and carelessly threw his binder on the couch on the way in. Erik Selvig's apartment resembled very much of himself; a cluttered mess with every branch of science spilled all around it. Textbooks lay in the corner, some stacked on the coffee table in the living area, papers lying here and there contained with diagrams of who-knows-what type of scientific data, and a coffee mug knocked over at the kitchen bar table, but nothing spilled. All at once, it looked cluttered and messy, but to Natasha, she sort of understood what he meant by his 'organized mess' motto he explained in the car on the way here. At least he wasn't disgusting by leaving food out or smelly clothes. A set of Newton Balls sat on a nightstand by the shelf, along with a picture of him and his two old colleagues, Jane and Darcy, and Thor behind them all smiling for the camera. His signature green board hung against the wall ahead by a completed bookshelf, with a model of looked like some sort of molecule he was researching, to which Natasha only felt more lost at the sight of it all. Science may not have been her forte, but she knew enough to get herself out of a sticky situation.

"Coffee?" he asked, as he grabbed the knocked over mug from the bar and made his way into the kitchen.

Natasha cocked a brow, intrigued by Selvig entirely but also realizing she lacked the energy to have his full attention.

"Sure," she shrugged. The man turned on the coffee maker and began making a new pot. "Please tell me you're gonna wash that cup? And if you're not, please don't give it to me."

"Of course I'm going to wash it. I'm disorganized, not disgusting." Romanoff smirked. "Plus this mine that I use. Oh and by the way, if you don't mind me asking, why is your hair different?"

The spy was actually surprised he didn't ask the question earlier when she confronted him, but perhaps that wasn't what crossed his mind upon seeing one of the deadliest assassins in the back of his car.

"Red hair is kind of my trademark," she spoke, walking over by the bar and resting her arms against it. "Also it stands out in a room full of others. So... to hide in the meantime, blonde is all I got to work with."

"Brunette maybe?"

She tilted her head at the statement. "I guess that'd be more discreet, huh?"

"Perhaps it would." As he finished preparing the coffee, Selvig then scurried over to the tall bookshelf and with his finger scanned through the many items on display. "You know, I've had many crazy experiences with portals and gateways to other dimensions and whatnot - you can thank the Asgardians for that one - but not so much with 'alternate dimensions' and warped realities."

"Well, you and me would be in the same boat on that one," Natasha remarked, having vivid memories of New York all over again.

"I mean, the knowledge I have on it, and have researched on it... i-it's theoretical at the most. You know, it's... it hasn't been scientifically proven yet."

"Yet."

Selvig found the book he was looking for and then grabbed it from off the shelf. Flipping through the pages, trying to remember the exact spot he needed since he last picked up the book, he then multitasked by flipping the board over a full 180 degrees, revealing an empty slate for him to draw and write on. He returned to the kitchen and poured Romanoff and himself two mugs of coffee. Asking if she wanted sugar, to which she declined, he preferred the same, and prepared their coffee black. Placing hers on the bar before her and sliding it over, she nodded to him and took a whiff before drinking.

"Let's hope you're not poisoning me," she dryly humored.

"Well, if I'd wanted to do that then I'd be bored explaining this all to myself," he remarked. Making his way back to the board, he took a sip, then another shortly after, and got down to it.

"The interesting paradox about the multiverse theory is that it sets itself up to where there are no 'right' or 'wrong' answers about it. People can't seem to agree on a single consensus, which is kind of the point I guess. There's infinite possibilities." Finding the page he needed, Selvig then began copying the diagram in the book onto the board. He drew circle labeled Earth at the top of the board, and then an arrow pointing downward extending from it, and from there drew several more 'Earths' trickling down. In descending order, he labeled them as different numbers from 1 to 7. He pointed at the first 'Earth' he drew, "This is us, right now, in this existence." His finger traveled up and down the rest of the board over the other ones he drew under it. "These are the other possible parallel realities of our own world that may exist simultaneously. Even these can have their own twist on reality with other dimensions and whatnot, which is where it gets even more confusing." As he said this, he drew more arrows pointing from one of the 'Earths' labeled as '3', showing that it had multiple versions of itself as well.

"So... is it possible for two realities to 'merge'?" the spy wondered. "Can things from other dimensions start to appear in another?"

"Well, the internet has been plagued with the 'Mandela Effect' theory going around. I'm guessing you don't know what I'm talking about?" Natasha shook her head. "Basically, what many - like myself - believe is simply false memory, others are starting to speculate is actually the result of multiverse forces at hand. Certain brand names that you might have remembered as a child suddenly seem mind-blowing once you realize they weren't actually called what everyone said they were. Vader never said the whole "Luke, I am your father line," Nelson Mandela died in prison many years long before, the list goes on. I like to believe people just have poor memory of these things happening, but in science you have to question everything."

"So, with the whole situation with there being _two_ 'Peter Parkers', despite no one else possibly knowing of the other's existence besides me, is it safe to say that this could be evidence of this... Mandela Effect being real? Or at least a byproduct of whatever's behind it?"

Selvig looked at a loss, but he knew that wasn't what Romanoff wanted from him. She wanted answers. "Possibly," he added. "From my experience dealing with portals, or I should say 'our' experience, given what happened in New York some years back, we know a portal can open on one side and things can enter our world from there, but that can only happen if it has a 'source'."

"A 'source'... the Tesseract."

"Yes, the Tesseract. And the sceptor, Loki's sceptor. Remember, that was what it took to close it. A portal needs a source, but it also needs an 'end source' if that makes sense. Even if you can't create or destroy energy, you can dispense it at your will, as long as you know how to control it."

"You're suggesting someone, or something is controlling this whole situation?"

He looked at her, for a while. "I don't know. But it's a start. We can use this formula to at least have a set and stone idea that this certainly couldn't happen by accident."

"Oh, I know it's not an accident. It's not just coincidental, it's weird beyond hell. I go my whole life up to this point knowing I've been an agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, dealing with the Accords, Stark and all of them; at what point could I have forgotten that these memories inbetween actually happened? It's like they're implanted in me now, I can't unsee them. There really was another Peter Parker, and he went by the identity of Spider-Man also. The same concept and everything, being superpowered and donning a similar suit. Another May Parker exists, and who knows what else. I was already suggesting before that perhaps one of the 'Infinity Stones' had been compromised, the 'Reality Stone', and that's what was behind all this."

"The one that possessed Jane?"

"Yeah. The Aether. But I don't know for sure. What I do know is that whatever's causing this, _whoever_ , I can't quite tell what their intentions are yet, but so far they're not sitting well with me. It knows me. Whatever it is, it knows me well."

Thoughts of Loki came back to Selvig. The power he had over him and the others he took control of. And then the realization came to him that even someone more powerful than Loki existed, long before him.

"You know, whatever religion people have, or even those who believe in a higher deity at hand manipulating everything, as much as people feel that this gives them some sort of peace of mind, being _under_ something… isn't that kind of devilish in itself?" he said. "To have that kind of power manifested for yourself, over others? I don't know what the source is for everything in existence, but if it really is the why we're suggesting, I don't think it would sit well with me either."

His words spoke more volume than Romanoff believed they would. He actually made more sense than she initially thought he would as well, thankfully not confusing her with concepts that made no sort of sense. But she guessed this really wasn't something he was quite familiar with either, so it seemed they would both learn about this along the way. Selvig couldn't lie, this genuinely sparked his curiosity. He always loved finding a new scientific puzzle to solve, and figuring this one out will definitely prove to be a beast of its own. Hesitant at first to help her since Romanoff confronted him in his own car, Selvig then remembered that day back in New York. Atop the Stark Tower, when she came to his aid, just after he'd returned to consciousness from being under Loki's spell, he felt at the time that she was one of the 'good ones'.

 _It's not your fault, you didn't know what you were doing…_

He remembered her words clearly. After feeling guilty for what he had done, despite being under Loki's control, she understood, perhaps more than anyone what it was like to be used. To be brainwashed.

"Romanoff… I've never had anything against you. I don't know all the details of what went down between you and Stark, but… even though I work with him and the rest now, as far as I'm concerned I have no part in it all. For the sake of my sanity, and my unconditional love for research, I'm willing to keep this between us. Why… because you'll probably kill me."

Natasha shook her head and almost gave him a similar look to the one back in the car when he'd said the same thing, a mix of humor and offense.

"Thanks, Selvig," she replied, taking another sip of her coffee. He nodded.


	11. Interception

**Interception**

 _Queens, New York_

 _Midtown School of Science and Technology_

The past few days for Peter weren't easy, thinking about all the strange occurrences lately. Pondering on them, using his big brain like he normally would to find a solution to any problem, didn't quite work for this situation. In fact, it only made things more complicated. Things didn't seem to correlate. Why was Romanoff involved in all this? Of all people, what made her seek him for help? Asking that question to himself obviously then would've pointed him in the next direction being that apparently another _him_ exists in this universe… which is where his critical thinking then starts to falter. Trying to make sense of such incomprehensible ideas and concepts is what made his head hurt the most. Cosmic theories was way out of his league as far as his studies went. Chemistry and engineering were his forte. But if all of this were true, there being doppelgangers and alternate versions of himself possibly walking amongst the Earth, and many more possibilities, then perhaps he should start trying to learn more about it.

Physics class, on the other hand, served as a treat to the webhead, simply because it came naturally to him, as his past perfect scores showed. Ms. Warren presented her lesson to the class, and in order for him to take his mind off of all the stress, Peter attentively took notes this time. He drew pictures of the diagrams displayed on the board in his notebook also, quite detailed in fact, finding it mildly therapeutic, even though it wasn't necessary. Keeping his phone in the pocket of his jeans, he knew whenever he'd receive a text message since he kept it on vibrate after Ms. Warren had to get on him several times about his ringtone disrupting the class. Once it vibrated, Peter knew he'd have to play it cool without Ms. Warren spotting him. She had a keen eye and seemed to catch everything. When she wasn't looking, he slid the phone from out of his pocket and took a peak at it. The message box came from an unknown number. But it was brief, so he at least could see the full length.

 _It's Romanoff… we need to talk,_ it read.

His heart stopped momentarily. Just hearing her name unnerves him to the bone. Then again, she didn't do anything to him before, so he supposed he had nothing to worry about. But he didn't let his guard down too soon just yet.

Ms. Warren didn't like for the students to interrupt class just by asking to use the bathroom. They were soon-to-be-adults, so she figured they'd best start acting like it by getting up themselves and just going and taking the 'bathroom pass' with them on their way out. Peter did so, and headed down the empty halls to the bathroom, anxiously, not knowing what to expect. She lied to him, as he figured would happen. She said she'd be 'out of his hair' after this was over, but supposedly it wasn't. He opened his phone to reply, being very careful what he said.

 _What's this about?_ he put. He waited momentarily, so nervous that he actually felt the need to use the restroom at this point.

 _I've got more answers about what happened_ she replied. _With the nosebleed and all…_

Just when he tried to forget about that, she reminded him then and there. That was just a strange day in general, meeting the _others_ and all.

 _You said you'd be out of my hair. You said you'd be done with this_ he responded.

No answer.

Sighing, his mind started racing. He was caught in the Black Widow's web, again. This is how it starts, Peter thought to himself. The games, manipulation, bribing. It's how she got what she wanted. He didn't feel entirely wrong about his assumption, given her history. Then again, she did nothing to him during their little trip to meet some old friends… though it was still hard to empathize with her.

He got a reply.

 _I know. I understand if you don't want to get involved. I'm sorry_

Damn, she was good. For all Peter knew, this was part of her ploy. Then, he started thinking with his brain and not his feelings. What ploy, really? What ulterior motive could she possibly have under her sleeve after he's seen for himself the craziness of the situation? Moreso, how could he explain the nosebleed that occurred? There had to be a reason for that to happen only at that moment in time. Something about being there, in the same place as the other… _him_ , had to be a reason for it. Romanoff couldn't possibly be capable of pulling off something as intricate and detailed as this. Then again, he didn't know her that well himself. For all he knew, she probably _was_ more than capable.

He pressed his thumb onto the screen, ready to type something, but hesitated. Stopping, he looked up to the ceiling lights, distracted momentarily, wondering how the hell he was going to convince her otherwise or just go with her plan. Replying with what he felt was satisfying enough, he headed on towards the restroom.

 _Okay, when do you want to meet?_ his message read.

As he turned, he was met with an unexpected voice to accompany him.

"Hey, Peter," Michelle's voice sounded, just as he turned to face her, which genuinely threw Peter off guard and startled the crap out of him.

"Jesus," he exclaimed, touching his heart.

"Hmm, not quite. MJ, but close enough."

"Michelle, what are you- what are you doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Look who's talking. And for your information, I'm on hall monitor duty now. Yeah, isn't my life just great?"

Through all this, her nonchalant expression mixed with her overall droopy appearance and hair hanging over her face gave her the look of intimidation to the webhead more than any street thug ever could, as crazy as it sounded.

"Hall monitor duty?" he said. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm bored. My class is boring, the people in it are boring, so why not? Plus I get to pick on poor kids like you wondering in the halls like prey."

"Michelle, I've told you this, we're like the same age group, you can't call me a kid."

She laughed, hysterically and briefly, then turned serious-faced again.

"You? Me? Same? Nah." With that, she walked past him and ruffled his hair on the way, to which Peter didn't fix right away, mildly irritated. "Better get back to class soon, young man, before I tell Ms. Warren you were loafing around in the halls."

He turned to look at her, confused. "How do you know I've got her class right now?"

"Um, it's fourth period? Duh! I know you and Ned's stupid schedules by this point."

And she was gone. He couldn't lie, something about even her awkward yet defiant walk, as though she had no care about what the world around her thought of her, sparked something in him. Just something. But she was still a jerk to him. Playful, sure, but a jerk nevertheless. Peter couldn't really complain since he was used to it by now, and only the people Michelle figured were really worth her time were the ones she messed with the most, especially him. Oh, _especially_ Peter Parker. He hoped he hadn't been blushing the whole time, like when she messed up his hair.

* * *

The spy waited for him at the bleachers, sporting her sunglasses and beanie to match with her brown leather jacket, wanting to maintain a low profile as much as possible while in public. Peter almost missed her since he's not used to seeing her without the red hair and all.

"Hey," her voice sounded, catching his attention. Tuning his head to the left, she was right there waiting for him patiently, arms crossed leaning against the side of the bleachers.

"Romanoff?" he dumbly asked, needing confirmation that it was her.

"No, it's your Aunt May," she shot back. "Yes it's me."

"You really know how to rock a disguise," he commented.

"Well, all the years I've been doing this, I'd be dead if I didn't." _Oh…,_ the kid thought to himself, as he was sure his unease showed itself to her yet again, and not to his liking. "Look, the last thing I wanna do is inconvenience anyone… especially young adults. But I can't stress enough, this shit is weird. All of it. I know it's a lot for you, too; it is for me. I need your help, Parker. You're a lot smarter than me and at least have some sort of knowledge in this type of stuff. Stark and Bru-" she caught herself, "Banner, they can't help me right now anymore. That's why I need you… and this other person I managed to reach out to. An old acquaintance we can say."

Here she goes again, weaving her web for him to become entangled in once more, all part of her manipulation. No doubt about it, Natasha knew how to get what she wanted, for good or bad intentions. Peter knew good and well, though, that the Black Widow was more than capable. He may have been naive, but only to an extent. Learning to trust people wasn't something he'd been great at basically ever. Perhaps now was the time to change that.

"Agent Romanoff, I- I can't. I- I have school, I have… responsibilities, my aunt. She'll kill me if she finds out what I'm doing on the side," he pleaded.

"You never did fully address the question back in Oceanside when I asked - does your aunt know about you?" Romanoff bluntly inquired.

This made the kid's stomach drop. He knew there was no reason to panic since Aunt May already knew _what_ he was, but still, the lingering feeling of knowing that _she knows_ still bothered him every day.

"...Yes." he answered shamefully. In Natasha's eyes, he saw a slight bit of remorse from her, which bemused him, coming from her. "But that doesn't change anything. I didn't want her to find out. Now that she has… it just…"

Natasha nodded. "I get it. Really, I do. You don't have to explain. If you don't wanna help me, you don't have to. I won't bother you again. You have my word."

For the second time, Peter felt her honesty take over. Sure, she was good at what she does, but it didn't feel that way this time. He knew now that she was dead serious about what she was saying. Ironically, this made him feel more inclined to help her more than ever.

He groaned, putting his hands on his face, looking to the sky. "Don't do this to me," he said.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything," she insinuated. "Really."

"Yeah, but you're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"Where you make a good point and then you make me feel bad about not wanting to help, and just- ugh!"

"Parker, seriously, you don't have to-"

"Hey, loser!" Michelle's voice interrupted out of nowhere, directing her attention to Peter, catching him very much off guard. Ned was with her also. Now he was panicking. He glanced at Natasha, to which she gave nothing in return, and then back at his friends.

"Oh, h-hey guys!" he nervously exclaimed. "Wha- What's up?"

"Why are you acting weird - wait, that's a redundant question," said Michelle.

"You still down for study hall today?" Ned asked.

"Uh, yeah," the kid answered.

Ned looked back in the direction where Natasha was standing, to which she no longer was, and became baffled, much to his astonishment.

"Who was that lady?" Ned questioned, wondering where she went.

 _Who_ was _that lady?_ Peter wondered. Why was he asking in past tense? The he turned to answer his own question. She disappeared. _How the heck did she do that,_ he thought. _She was just there a second ago-_

"That your new girlfriend or something?" Michelle teased, in her head kind of hoping he'd say no.

"No," he said as though he were a bit offended by the question. "She's, uh, an old colleague from the Stark internship."

"The Stark internship?" Ned exclaimed. "You're still doing that thing? I thought you were done?"

"I am, but, you know… they still like to recruit and beg people to come back and stuff, you know. Like, ' _Hey, Peter, we really like you and we'd hate to see you go,'_ type-of-thing," he said, nervously chuckling to better pass the lie, to which Michelle couldn't care less about - her face saying it all - and Ned just looking more and more bewildered. "She's nobody, really. So study hall, right?" he said, trying to change the subject.

"Mm-hmm," Ned and Michelle said together, exchanging smirks.

"What?" Peter said, blushing without realizing it. They said nothing as they turned the other way heading back. "What, guys? She's nobody, seriously!"

* * *

 _Oceanside, NY_

After Ben moved out of the house to go off to college, Marta still kept his old room upstairs just the way it was, untouched and everything. So most of his wall posters and accessories were still plastered everywhere, just the way he liked. Meaningful and disorganized. And just like their old home, the walls were painted blue. He asked his aunt if he could do it himself, so she kept hers white. Something about the blue paint just made him feel more at home. It was his favorite color, next to red. Whenever he'd come home to visit, he enjoyed chilling in his room for old times sake, as though he'd never left, reading, researching, working on a new project, or even just being lazy and staying in bed all day. It felt better here than in his college dorm.

Sitting in his bed against the pillow and the headboard, Ben sat up reading the book Mary Jane gave him. He couldn't lie, it was mildly entertaining, enough to keep his attention. So far what he took from it was that dreams were connected to one's mental state when they slept, and deeply rooted within the subconscious. Some say dreams were even used to determine what the gods were saying about them, and have been claimed to predict prophecies and other revelations from higher powers. _Higher powers_ , he mocked in his head. He wasn't no atheist, but he also couldn't confirm nor deny any 'higher powers' that may have existed in the universe. Science calls it energy, religion calls it 'God'. All in all, Ben just wanted the 'truth'. Like about what happened with the other… _him._ It'd been so long since the last time he saw Natasha - why was she back now? And with this kid who was apparently just like him in every way? It all sounded like an intriguing science-fiction plot, one in which he couldn't shake off. Ben wondered, could it have all been coincidental that the dreams and visions bothering him before happened just before Natasha's return? Who knew.

Suddenly, that 'warning sensation' came back again, raising every hair on his body, just like earlier on the train. Someone was coming to the door. Two knocks sounded. He was right.

"You can come in," he called.

Mary Jane opened the door and walked in. That was the one thing he didn't know ahead of time. He closed the book and put it down next to him.

"You good?" she asked, walking over to the bed.

"Yeah," he said, making room for her to sit.

"And yes, I see you reading that book I gave you."

"It's a lot more entertaining than I thought. I'll give you that.

"I'd never give you something boring. What, you think I have bad taste or something? Gosh," she teased.

"Yeah, you like oatmeal raisin cookies."

She gave him a look, glaring at his growing grin, unable to contain his laughter.

"Mm-hmm, keep it up," she nodded. "Just keep on trying me."

Ben sat up closer to her, still on the bed, and pulled in to kiss her on the cheek. He put his warm arms around her, holding her as she sat on the edge.

"I know it's a twin size bed and all, but we can both still fit, you know," he said, resting his head gently on her shoulder.

"You really wanna do that with your aunt downstairs?" she demurred.

Similar to a silly cartoon character, his eyes shifted down in reference to his aunt, who was probably in her room, hopefully taking a nap, and then shifted back to hers, giving a quick shrug. She chuckled.

"You're a lot bolder than you come off, you know that?" she said.

"Look, I'm just cold," he humored.

MJ laid her head closer to his, making their noses touch as she stayed caught up in his embrace, taking hold of his hands clasped around her waist. He _was_ warm, she thought.

"You wanna talk about what happened earlier?" he softly asked, his breath tickling her neck.

She shrugged. "I… don't know if I have anything to say. Honestly. Like, yeah, I think we can all agree it's weird. But, it's happening somehow. I get you not telling me about your past life and all, but… I'm just still trying to process it, that's all."

"I'd never lie to you, you know that, but I had to hide it for me and Aunt May's… Aunt Martha's protection," he said.

"I guess you can call her that again, at this point," she said, over the whole cover-up identity facade.

"Natasha… she saved us. She saved our lives. And I owe her big time. I'll always feel indebted to her in some way, if she ever came back, if she ever needed anything. Like now."

Mary Jane saw the sincerity in his eyes, and the desperation. After a while, all seriousness aside, it started to make him look cute, she thought. Those eyes would make her do anything he asked for. If he needed her, she'd be there. And he was a genuinely nice guy. MJ could only wish for her parents to meet him sooner like how she was with his aunt so they could know just how great of a guy he was.

She nodded. "Okay," she softly told him. With that, he rested his head back down onto her shoulder again, childlike. "So is Natasha like another version of _me_ or something? You said her hair was naturally red, right?"

He raised his head and looked at her. "I'm not answering that."

She smiled. "Fine. But what do you think about that kid? The other… _you_?"

"What about him?"

"Like, isn't it crazy that there's literally a doppelganger of you walking around?"

"Well, I can't pretend it hasn't been keeping me up at night. It's unreal, I know. I don't know who he is, or how similar his life is to mine, but I guess we're gonna find out."


End file.
